


The First Date (Claire x Owen)

by Maddie612



Category: Jurassic World (2015)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-23
Updated: 2015-06-23
Packaged: 2018-04-05 18:27:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4190346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maddie612/pseuds/Maddie612
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Good. Very good.” He was pretty sure she hadn't heard what he just said. “Thursday evening. Eight past seven. Noted. Goodnight, Mr Grady.”</p>
<p>With that, she ended the call.</p>
<p>Owen didn't know why, but something was telling him that he had just made a business appointment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The First Date (Claire x Owen)

**Author's Note:**

> This is the most ridiculous thing I've ever written...
> 
> On Saturday, I went to see "Jurassic World" because I'm such a dinosaur nerd and I once wanted to be a paleontologist and I have so many books about it and I know every goddamn line from every goddamn part of "Jurassic Park".
> 
> Man, this film was so cheesy and clichéd and I don't care, I enjoyed it sooo much.

"A dinner?" Claire Dearing made two steps towards Owen Grady, her heeled shoes tapping against metal viewing deck. She adjusted her navy blue skirt-suit and cleared her throat. "This is a very... interesting proposal, Mr Grady. I shall consider it as soon as possible and let you know what I think about it."

Owen Grady let out a raspy laugh and turned back to the raptors pen.

“Why always so formal?”

“Why shouldn't I be? We're at work.”

He looked over his shoulder and smirked.

“It's the third time you've checked up on us this week and it's only Tuesday,” he said. “Does your work really require that? I hope they pay you a lot at least.”

Claire Dearing shifted from one leg to the other, her hip popping out, and crossed her arms.

“They pay me well enough, Mr Grady, to remember that I don't have time for chit-chat.” She spun around and made her way back down the stairs.

Owen watched her from above, as he leaned against the barrier. She passed Victor Hoskins, acknowledging him with a stiff nod, and greeted Grady's co-workers. Before she got into her car, she stopped Barry and said something to him. A minute later, Mercedes-Benz GLE Coupe roared off into the jungle.

Barry joined his colleague at the observation platform. He gave him a confused look.

“She asked me to tell you that she'll check her schedule first, then let you know if she's free any time soon.”

* * *

 

Claire called him seven hours later. He was puttering around his motorcycle, the sun setting down behind his bungalow, when his mobile phone started buzzing.

He fished it out of his pocket and glanced at the screen. With a smile, he clicked the answer button.

“Checked your schedule already?” he greeted Claire Dearing.

“Actually, yes,” her excessively polite voice resounded in his ear. “Does Thursday evening suit you?”

Owen remained silent for a minute, pretending to be deep in thought.

“According to _my_ schedule,” he said into the phone eventually, imitating her serious tone, “I'm available on that day.”

“Perfect. It's settled then.” There was a sound of rustling paper on the other end of the line. “I'll pick you up at eight past seven, Mr Grady. Or would you prefer a little earlier?”

Owen pulled his phone from his ear, stared at it for a moment, a dazed expression forming on his face.

“Eight past seven sounds… _great_.” He scratched his head. “And my name is Owen.”

“Good. Very good.” He was pretty sure she hadn't heard what he just said. “Thursday evening. Eight past seven. Noted. Goodnight, Mr Grady.”

With that, she ended the call.

Owen didn't know why, but something was telling him that he had just made a business appointment.

* * *

 

Tuesday evening turned out to be unbelievably hot. Owen finished his work at six p.m., but Victor Hoskins insisted on seeing the reports from the recent research on Velociraptors and he had to stay a little longer. In effect, he got to his bungalow at seven o'clock, all covered in sweat.

He quickly changed into fresh clothes and washed his head. When he went outside the bungalow to let his hair dry out, a familiar car emerged from the trees. Owen glanced at his watch. Six past seven.

Claire Dearing stepped out of the car wearing a plain black business dress along with dark low heeled shoes.

“Good evening,” she said, approaching him, an apologetic smile on her face. “Sorry, I'm earlier. I'll wait here while you change, Mr Grady.”

Owen opened his arms wide and grinned. “No need to do that. I'm ready.”

If he was a character in a film, there would obviously be some kind of a dramatic violin melody played when Claire looked him up and down.

“You're going to eat out wearing _board shorts_?”

“Is there a problem?”

She opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

“Let's go,” she said eventually, her voice strangely hoarse. “We need to keep up with the itinerary.”

“The _itinerary_?”

* * *

 

“They don't sell burgers here?” Owen flicked through the menu in search of something that wasn't exactly a 'Roasted Chicken with Asiago Polenta and Truffled Mushrooms' or 'Chickpea, Arugula, and Pita Bread Salad with Goat Cheese'.

Claire glanced over her menu at him and blinked. “Burgers? No, I'm afraid they don't sell, ehm, burgers here.”

“Too bad. I'll just take whatever it is.” Owen pointed at something in the menu that was called 'Lechon Asado con Mojo'.

“Oh, it's a classic Cuban dish,” Claire explained.

Owen gave her an indulgent look. “Everything makes sense now, thank y-”

“A grilled pork, Mr Grady.”

“Thank you.”

When they were ordering their dishes, Claire's mobile phone rang.

“Sorry, I have to get this. I'll be right back.” She quickly ordered her meal and walked out of the restaurant.

She came back ten minutes later.

“I'm so sorry. It was my assistant, I-”

“I understand – you're the park operations manager.” Owen raised his hand to stop her words. “You're a busy woman. Let's just don't talk about work tonight. I ordered us tequila.”

* * *

 

“Mineral water? Really?” Owen shook his head, when the waiter placed a bottle of water in front of Claire.

She shrugged. “My diet doesn't allow alcohol.”

“My God, what a sad life you must lead,” he said taking a shot. “Good that I haven't ordered two tequilas then. My poor wallet wouldn't-”

“Oh, you don't have to worry about that,” Claire cut him off. “I'm paying.”

The shot glass froze halfway to Owen's mouth. He put it back on the table.

“You like to be in control, don't you?”

She smiled, pouring her mineral water into a glass, but didn't say anything. He tried something else.

“I like your choice of dress.” He pointed at her displayed cleavage with his head.

“Mr Grady, I'm-”

“Owen. It's Owen.”

“ _Owen_ then, I'm afraid I can't say the same thing about your… _trousers_.”

The food was served the exact moment he opened his mouth to retort. They both focused on their plates, the same thought forming in their minds.

It was going to be a long evening.

 


End file.
